


Keep Your 'lectric Eye on Me, Babe (Put Your Ray Gun to My Head)

by soft_october



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Space, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, I stole a bunch of terms from star trek, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Outsider, lots of outsiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_october/pseuds/soft_october
Summary: Captain Young was charismatic, he was talented, he was the pride of the admirals who admired self-starters and the despair of those who were sticklers for decorum. He had seen combat dozens of times and always kept a cool head and a calm voice, even if Lt. Pulsifer had blown the computers yet again, and he was not about to lose that carefully cultivated exterior of sensible composure simply because two of the most preposterous diplomats he ever had the misfortune to welcome aboard the Hogsback couldn’t stand to be in the same room without winding each other up into a ship-shaking row.In 2405, the starshipHogsbackembarked on a three year mission with two civilian representatives from the planets Hev-N and Hel on board. This is the story of their relationship, told through the eyes of the captain and crew.





	Keep Your 'lectric Eye on Me, Babe (Put Your Ray Gun to My Head)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Moonage Daydream by David Bowie, 'cause ain't no way ya girl is going to write a space au without some influence from the original Starman himself.

Captain Adam Young had written a great deal of high minded essays about leadership in his entrance exams to the Academy. 

The admissions officer assigned to him, a flighty young thing who had gotten her crew hopelessly lost on their first voyage and thus learned she was better suited to desk work than navigation, wept when she read his opuses to honesty, integrity, communication, a captain’s ability to inspire those around him, the importance of dignity and delegation, and she rang the admiral to get this kid fast tracked to command as soon as she dried her eyes and made doubly sure her voice would not betray her emotion. 

It was all a load of bullshit.

Now, the first time he saw combat, back when he was piloting the _M25_ under the command of Captain Tracy, _that’s_ when he understood what leadership was. That’s when he realized that leadership was _really_ about looking like you had everything under control (even if a panel on the bridge just exploded in sparks and singed your beautiful and perfectly coiffed red hair, and _especially_ while Lt. Shadwell down in Engineering was screaming at you about the engines over the comm).[1]

Maintaining the aura that everything on the ship was operating perfectly - regardless of the truth - was how Adam succeeded in becoming one of the youngest captains of his generation, earning the command of the _Hogsback_ at the tender age of twenty-nine while most of his classmates were still stuck as Ensigns in the bowels of science or communication, eyeing him enviously and scrabbling to look busy whenever their lieutenant or captain happened to be around.

Such thoughts, and others of their ilk, hounded him as he followed the sounds of raised voices down the hall, which was lined here and there with grim faced crewmen who wouldn't meet his eyes and seemed perhaps overly occupied with their comm devices. 

Captain Young was charismatic, he was talented, he was the pride of the admirals who admired self-starters and the despair of those who were sticklers for decorum. He had seen combat dozens of times and always kept a cool head and a calm voice, even if Lt. Pulsifer had yet _again_ somehow blown the ship’s computers, and he was _not_ about to lose that carefully cultivated exterior of sensible composure simply because two of the most preposterous diplomats he ever had the misfortune to welcome aboard the _Hogsback_ couldn’t stand to be in the same room without winding each other up into a ship-shaking row. 

“Gentlemen,” he announced as he burst into one of the innumerable rooms set aside for recreation throughout the ship. It was spoken in much the same tone as a parent might call their child’s name as he reached for his sister’s pigtails, and the forcefulness of it succeeded in stifling the heated argument taking place for the moment. But Mr. Crawly and Mr. Fell were not children, they were middle aged representatives from two interplanetary superpowers currently engaged in a shouting match over -

“Ah, Captain Young,” Mr. Fell said with grateful eyes. “Now here is a young man who has earned everything he has, a perfect example of exactly what I was trying to explain, if you would only listen -” Mr. Crawly slammed his hand on the table between them. 

“That’s not what I was saying at all!” he cried. “Captain Young was born on one of the wealthiest planets in the galaxy! You can’t start people off on all sorts of different footings and judge all their choices the same!” 

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous, why-”

“Gentlemen.” The child had heedlessly yanked his sister’s hair, and now the parent was roused to action, which for Adam meant nothing more than stepping beside their table and softly placed his hand upon it. “I don’t care what you’re fighting about this time. I have no interest in your philosophical games beyond their effect on my crew to effectively maintain this ship, which they cannot do if they’re trying to drown out your screaming. If I am _again_ called down from the bridge in order to put an end to some stupid argument, since you seem deaf to the warnings from the other crewmen, I guarantee that it will be the last.” He looked from one to the other, daring either of them to speak first. Mr. Crawly took a long sip of his wine and stared off absently. Mr. Fell flushed scarlet with embarrassment and tried to stammer out an apology, but Captain Young cut him off with a glance. 

“Are we clear?” 

Adam was very fond of this particular collection of words, as there is a power in that phrase that only those who have been on the receiving end of it can comprehend. Coming from a weak authority, the words are laughable, an adorable charm bracelet of trinkets strung together, and just as dismissable (Commander R.P. Tyler came to mind, Adam’s very first commander, whose crew was so eager to testify against him that his court-martial held the record as the longest in Federation history) - but Adam Young was a Captain who wore his power like an understated and yet fashionable cloak, and if someone like that says 'Are we clear?' to you there’s pretty much only two responses you can give. Instant compliance, alongside a quick prayer to whatever deity you worship that the airlock will blow and suck you right out into space instead of letting you sit and marinate in your own mortification, or - 

“Going to throw us in the brig if we don’t behave, Captain Young?” Mr. Crawly drawled from behind those dark glasses. “Neither Hel nor Hev-N would tolerate that. You don’t have the authority.” Ah yes, the surly rejoiner. Adam was well-versed in this game, as he had been the self-appointed king of witty quips under commander Tyler. (Adam's testimony at the hearing had been particularly punctuated by laughs and cheers) Mr. Crawly had no idea what kind of beast he was poking at with a sharp stick. 

“We are seven months into a three year mission, Mr. Crawly. Should I take the initiative to do as you say, it’ll be quite some time before someone can tell me otherwise, and you can be sure I would resolve this issue of your tedious argument though the benefit of no less than fifteen feet of solid steel between you both for the remainder of the voyage.” Mr. Fell’s eyes grew wide, and Mr. Crawly pressed his lips into a thin line, and not a single witty retort was found to be had. 

Captain Young left without another word. 

* * *

Lieutenant Newton Pulsifer (It’s just Newt, really, he would say to anyone who called him Newton, including his subordinates) did not have a personal comm device. 

Eh. Okay, that’s not _exactly_ true. He’d been _issued_ one, of course, everyone was, standard procedure for a ship of this size. It was in case of emergencies, or in case of a power failure, or, as they were used by most of the crew, in case of important pictures of small, fuzzy animals from various planets throughout the galaxy that were very cute despite the fact they were often highly poisonous.[2] Newt’s device was locked away in a box at the back of his closet in his quarters, where it would remain until he would be obliged to return it at the conclusion of the voyage. 

Newt wasn’t _afraid_ of technology. He was rather good at coaxing the engines of the _Hogsback_ to give just a little bit more than most engineers were, after all. It’s just that things like fiddly little electronics didn’t like _him_ , and would express this in full when they froze, or stopped working, or, on one memorable occasion, collapsed the entire ship’s network when he forgot himself and tried to shoot off a quick message to his mum back home on Earth. 

So. 

The rule was, no personal comm devices ever. And that’s why he wasn’t on the group message detailing the locations of Mr. Fell and Mr. Crawly at all hours of the day. 

If the crew thought their shouting matches had been intolerable, Captain Young had caused rather a lateral move to the current state of things when he put an end to that. Now Mr. Crawly practically _slithered_ about the ship with a curled lip and a bitter smile, like he was about to hiss at you any minute, and it was best to just keep out of his way, lest his foul mood rub off on you. Mr. Fell was somehow the exact opposite and exactly as insufferable, trapping people with his kind smile and affable politeness into conversations that went on so long you thought your brain would leak out of your ears and your face would be frozen in a cheshire smile for hours. Honestly, it was best to just avoid them both, _especially if they were en route to the same location._

But Newt, happily toiling away down in engineering, had escaped much of the tension, and didn’t have a clue. Thus, one morning, when there was a sudden mass exist from the mess as every crewman at once checked their phones and fled, Newt merely wondered if there were some team building exercise he’d forgotten about (again), and returned to his toast. 

Mr. Crawly entered through one door at almost the same moment Mr. Fell entered through the opposite side, and both froze just long enough for the crunching of Newt’s toast to become excruciating in the stillness. Newt shivered, as if the room had just dropped ten degrees, and quickly dropped his eyes to the remainder of his breakfast. 

The fireworks began not a minute later. [3]

Mr. Crawly and Mr. Fell made a loud and painfully obvious show of just how much they were ignoring each other, as Mr. Crawly stomped around the mess, slammed trays down upon tables, and clattered silverware so loudly it seemed impossible by the laws of physics, and Mr. Fell responded by primly and properly scorning the whole spectacle, acting like he was at some kind of lovely little bistro back on Hev-N. Within five minutes the agony of it all had poor Newt attempting wild calculations in his head on the odds of the floor suddenly giving way beneath him and dropping him neatly into the engine room where he belonged. The hostility was so palpable he worried he might choke on it, and was this happening throughout the ship _every day?_

He could feel Mr. Crawly’s eyes boring into the back of his head. Could looks kill, back on Hel? Newt wasn’t about to raise his eyes to chance it, and thought about escaping any further involvement in this very public private drama by staying quite still, if only he could -

Oh no. 

It was already too late. 

Mr. Fell caught his eye and was coming over. 

He was _smiling_ , and the hair on the back of Newt’s neck stood at attention to make even the most cantankerous admiral proud. 

He scrambled, searching through his mind for the “list of probable excuses to escape uncomfortable situations” that everyone makes and but can never seem to find when the time is at hand, and had grabbed his mug to dump coffee into his own lap when the crackle of the ship’s intercom broke through the harrowing stillness.

“Lieutenant Pulsifer to the bridge. Repeat, Lieutenant Pulsifer to the bridge.” By first syllable of his own name Newt was already halfway to the door, and he set some kind of record by reaching the lift at the end of the hall before the message concluded. 

And when he made it to the bridge a few minutes later, Captain Young claimed to have forgotten why he was summoned in the first place. 

* * *

Lieutenant Wendslydale peered at the figure on the monitor in front of him again, rewinding, confirming, rewinding again. He felt that age-old vibration in his bones, the one that comes along when you think you’re on the cusp of something pretty terrible and right before anxiety carves a hollow straight through your chest. But nothing had happened, not yet, anyway, and it would be foolish to go running to Captain Young on the barest suspicion that Mr. Crawly or Mr. Fell might commit dreadful violence upon the other.

How else to explain the long look Mr. Crawly gave Mr. Fell not five hours ago when they passed in the corridor, the one playing over and over again on the monitor, or the same from Mr. Fell to Mr. Crawly the day before? Wensleydale was certain that should he trawl through the footage for the past few months he would see more of the same, the furrowed brows, pursed lips, the stares that lingered a second too long. 

It was loathing if Wensleydale had ever seen it. 

This was beyond their loud and public battles, beyond the months of attempting a war of irritation and needling through malicious non acknowledgement. He worried that Captain Young had perhaps been overhasty. Without the option of screaming at each other, was it not possible that their unbridled hatred should fester without outlet, and culminate in a more physical expression? Again he checked the records to confirm that all weapons on board the ship were accounted for, but it brought him little comfort, and as he glanced around the security desk he saw a multitude of instruments of death: a pen that could be rammed into a jugular, a paperweight to the back of a skull, a piece of paper folded enough times and smoothed to an edge sharp enough to -

 _Whoa, okay, slow down there buddy, it’s just an odd stare. Let’s not let our thoughts run away._ (Wensleydale had been working very hard with the ship’s therapist, who told him he was improving, though he was rather doubtful) Reasoning attempted to reassert itself, and was mostly successful in the endeavor, even though a small, wary corner of his mind prickled, tense and disquiet. 

He wouldn’t tell Captain Young, not yet, and he was frustrated in his efforts to expand surveillance around the two - the governments of Hel and Hev-N would tolerate nothing less than the full and complete autonomy of their representatives, and the usual sensors he would have relied on had been stripped from their chambers before they ever set foot on board. No matter. Wensleydale was resourceful, and he could get creative. He wasn’t permitted cameras in the corridors beside their rooms, but nothing prevented him from installing heat sensors in the hallways above or below, cameras placed at careful intersections, with certain doors just out of their field of vision. 

Captain Young wouldn’t like it, but if something should happen to Mr. Fell or Mr. Crawly (like, oh, I don’t know, murder?) it was the captain who would be taking the fall, and Wensleydale, who had served under more insufferable commanders than he could count, would be damned before he used every tool at his disposal to ensure the capable Captain Young retained control of the Hogsback. 

* * *

Lt. Commander Anathema Device had not studied for fifteen years, learning the customs and languages of the sixteen primary federation planets as well as thirty more she predicted would be extremely influential in the next few decades to spend her days about a newly deployed ship babysitting a grown man. [4]

“Mr. Fell, I have repeatedly asked you not to remove or reorder the books.” A moment of guilt flashed across the man’s round face before it melted into a smile and she waited for the excuse this time. For months, ever since he and Mr. Crawly ceased their seemingly incessant arguments and settled into refusing to acknowledge the other's existence with seething determination, Mr. Fell had been down in the ship’s library, reading, surrounded by piles of real and electronic books he’d haphazardly yanked from the shelves - though only the least observant would fail to notice his preference in attempting to sneak the physical volumes down to his quarters. 

“Yes, dear, but you see -” 

“Mr. Fell, I do not see. You are permitted to read any of these books electronically via your comm device. I see no reason why you persist in the notion that you are allowed to operate outside the rules of this vessel.” He blinked at her, and supported her argument through a pointed stare before returning to putting the library back in some semblance of order, hoping that the matter was at an end. 

“Back on Hev-N, I have a whole bookshop worth of real books,” Mr. Fell mumbled after a minute, rather wistfully. “Stacks taller than either of us, you need one of those lovely rolling ladders to reach them all. But here -” He sighed, and looked so sad that Anathema was horrified to find her anger melting away at the sight of it, and refused to obey her repeated insistence that it righteously build itself up again. “Well, perhaps in lieu of the company of others, one might delight in the company of books. But you are quite right, Lt. Device. I’m only a guest on this ship and I shouldn’t expect -”

“Shut up,” Anathema said, as she shoved the closest pile of books into his hands. “Just - just take them and get out of here. But if you fail to return a single one I swear I’ll - I’ll -” She wanted to have his head, but it was such an empty threat she settled for “have to compose a strongly worded letter to your superior.” Mr. Fell smiled beatifically before fleeing with his prizes, lest she should change her mind. 

A few weeks later, she ran into Mr. Crawly as she and Lt. Newt Pulsifer took a turn through the ship’s vast gardens, powered by rows upon rows of sun lights that the Federation insisted made people just as happy as it did the plants. (Anathema called it a whole lot of PR speak when she mentioned it, which was often.) Well, perhaps it should be said less that she _ran_ into him and more that she _overheard_ him, speaking sharply and angrily to what she assumed was Mr. Fell but only turned out to be a very small and very terrified palm tree. 

“Should - should we go check on him?” Newt asked her, as they eyed him through the relative safety of a nearby shrub. Unless she was mistaken (and she never was), Anathema listened to Mr. Crawly condemn the plant for not being lush enough to be seen by anyone, and wouldn’t it be just the palm’s luck to be abandoned by those who cared for it? She pulled Newt away in the opposite direction. 

“Absolutely not.” 

* * *

“You’re not an officer,” Ensign Brian Galkoff paused in his cleanup when Mr. Crawly wandered into the officer’s club and took his usual place at the bar. “This is just supposed to be for officers.” (He said it every time Mr. Fell or Mr. Crawly came into the club, and for all the good it had ever done it might as well have been a ‘hello.’) 

“D’you ever wonder how you ended up here?” Mr. Crawly slurred, head leaning clumsily in his hands. It was clear he had started early, though Brian couldn’t distinguish that glassed over look he normally associated with several hours of drinking, not with those sunglasses in the way. “I don’t mean all that metaphysical nonsense, life, the universe and everything and all that-” Here he made a complicated gesture with his fingers that was wholly untranslatable. “I mean here, how did you, Mr. -” Crawly squinted, looking for a nametag, and finding none, plowed forward “Mr. Bartender." - Brian had told Mr. Crawly his name no less than thirteen times in the last three months and he wasn't sure the man had ever been sober enough to remember it - "Why are you this and not something else?” As the bartender for the officer’s club on board the _Hogsback_ for the past year, Brian was used to tearful confessions and strange questions, and he got this one so often he could set his watch by it. (Right then, twelve thirty in the morning, perfect time for the existentialists to swarm out of the woodwork. Like ants.)

“Seemed like the best career option at the time, Sir,” he parroted his typical response. “Lots of opportunities for travel, food and board paid for. That means a lot to a kid where I come from.” 

"Are you happy?" Ah yes, the second most popular question posed to him right after last call. 

"Of course sir. Most would give their left arm to serve under Captain Young. Plus -" he crouched low and conspiratorial - "As one of the mess officers, I technically have access to all the ice cream I’d like." That usually got through, got whoever was three sheets to the wind enough to ask such a stranger such a dreadfully personal question to at least crack a smile. But Mr. Crawly’s despair seemed to be of a variety too bone deep to be reached by pithy temptations of frozen dairy treats. 

“But you had a choice? You could have been something else, if you wanted to?” 

“Of course. Could have been a teacher, or sold insurance or something. Not as glamorous, but it’s steady. My mother was a teacher.” 

“We don’t choose,” Crawly muttered. “Not on Hel. You - you’re told what to do, and you just - you do the best you can with what you’re given there but sometimes -” He sighed, and sank his forehead down on the bar. Brian shifted uncomfortably behind the safety of a foot and a half of countertop. “I didn’t even get to chose my name. Crawly. Bah. So crawling at your feet-ish. Vile thing. Can’t change it. Don’t want to make the state mad.” He spat the last, sarcastic and bitter, then he exhaled, and even the most jaded slinger of drinks and purveyor of kind ears would feel their chest constrict at the depth of the anguish in that single breath. 

“Can I get you a drink, sir?” He didn’t know what else to say in the delicate silence that followed. 

“A what?”

“A drink?”

“Right - yes!” Mr. Crawly picked his head up off the bar and it was as if a veil fell over his shoulders, blinking the morose air about him straight out of existence. “I’ll take a bottle of whatever wine is drinkable.” 

“A whole bottle, sir?” 

“As you say.” 

Mr. Crawly took his bottle and left the officer’s club, whistling brightly to himself, but what kind of bartender would Brian be if he couldn’t hear the hollowness in it?

Once the sound of Mr. Crawly’s footsteps had faded into the background hum of the ship he went to the only other patron of the bar, hidden in the back corner, wearing a look like someone just slapped him across the face, eyes fixed on the door. He muddled for a moment, recalling Wensleydale going on about their unadulterated hatred for each other only last week, and he should probably be distracting Mr. Fell from any murderous thoughts or something, right? But Mr. Fell looked as small and sad as Mr. Crawly, and Brian wasn't the paranoid sort. 

“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Fell?” There was no recognition in those blue eyes that he had heard, so Brian tried again. “Mr. Fell?” The blonde man shook his head, slipping out of the reverie, and glancing about the bar as if he’d never quite seen it before. 

“Terribly sorry, what is it, dear boy?” 

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything else. It’s almost closing time.”

“No, no, I’m alright for now.” He smiled, then looked thoughtful. “But could you send over a bottle of the same as Mr. Crawly in a few?” Well, that was rather sweet, wasn't it? Maybe in the absence of interaction they were trying to understand each other! Brian nodded, and when Mr. Fell left soon after receiving the bottle, he paid it no mind. 

But then no one saw the pair for three days. 

* * *

Commander Pepper Ris, head of security and Adam’s first officer, stood outside the door to Mr. Crawly’s chambers with another four members of her team. Dread, that old architect of panic and stupid decisions, lingered in the vicinity of her chest, eager to fill her heart, and Pepper told it to kindly fuck off. There was nothing behind this door that she did not anticipate, nothing she could not handily settle. 

“You’re certain this is the last place they were seen?” 

“Are you questioning my tech?” Wensleydale chirped in her ear. “The footage shows Mr. Fell arriving here three days ago, right after he left the officer’s club, and since then there’s been no word from either of them: they won’t answer any comms, and they haven’t left these rooms since.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius with computers? Can't you -" 

“I can’t hack tech that doesn’t exist. All life sensors in both of their chambers were stripped.” There was a burst of static that made Pepper jump, and then a new voice chattered in her ear. 

“If they’ve killed each other, just how fucked are we?”

“I'll be taking full responsibility for anything that happens on this ship, Lt. Device, and you’re not even supposed to be on this channel.” It was Captain Young, and his presence cowed any further response, even from the loquacious Lt. Device. “Pepper, let’s just get in there. No sense in speculating and stressing before we have a single fact. Maybe we’re all wrong and they’re in there playing - playing chess or something.” She knew he was trying to put on a brave face for the crew, and what kind of first officer would she be if she told him exactly what she thought they would find, over the comm where everyone could hear? Instead, Pepper directed her team to stand ready on both sides of the door before running her master key through the electronic lock, and the door slid open to reveal an empty, dimly lit entryway. 

Cautiously, Pepper stepped inside, nose sharp for the smell of blood. She swung into the sitting room, was met with nothing but a few empty bottles of wine and two glasses long since abandoned. She took a long breath and signalled to her team, and they swarmed through the door, covering the bathroom, the closet, the small kitchen, where dishes were piled up in the sink and leftovers of a dubious nature were molding in the refrigerator. All was deemed clear. She nodded and silently made her way to the bedroom, tension coiled in her muscles, readying themselves to spring into action.

With no pretense, Pepper kicked in the door, weapon drawn, scanning for any - 

“Doesn’t anybody bloody _knock_?” Mr. Crawly’s voice sliced through the strained air, a pair of bodies scrambled to cover themselves with sheets, Mr. Fell’s face blushing with shame and - 

Oh. 

Mr. Fell went from red to while with alarming rapidity, his eyes squeezed shut and his face buried into the crook of Mr. Crawly's neck, and _he_ was glaring at her so with those black and yellow eyes she thought he might be trying to turn her to stone. When he hissed "Get _out,_ " Pepper had no need to be told twice. She covered her eyes while backing away towards the door, reeling. Was this what being blindsided felt like? Okay, so maybe she wasn’t _quite_ prepared for whatever she found, but not a single class at the academy or professional development workshop had ever prepared her for something this! [5]

“It’s all right, angel,” Mr. Crawly muttered behind her, and Pepper must be hallucinating, because she could have sworn Mr. Fell just called him _Crowley_ \- 

“I’m hearing screaming.” Captain Young said, annoyed and frustrated, and Pepper wondered how long he had been in her ear. “What’s going on down there? Commander, report!” 

“Everything is - We’re all fine, ah, we don’t - Look - Mr. Crawly and Mr. Fell are definitely alive and definitely together… they've just been… otherwise - ah - engaged?” Her face burned and she was at a loss to regain that cool tranquility she felt when she was certain they murdered each other. 

Through the comm in Pepper’s ear, neither Adam nor Anathema could contain their uproarious laughter. 

* * *

Ten minutes later, with everyone dressed and fit for company, Adam, who was just as shocked as the rest of his crew but couldn’t very well show it ("Hiya, gents, thought you were mortal enemies, gotta say we're all rather chuffed with the reality, and three days! Quite the feat, really), met with the pair in the briefing room. His comm device, which hadn’t stopped sending him message notifications since the moment the news reached the rest of the crew, was back in his quarters, and the two grown men across from him looked as though they not only expected him to give them the death penalty, but wondering why they were even being given the benefit of an explanation. 

“What on earth is going on here?” No sense in pleasantries. Captain Young’s voice was not cruel, but it was firm. “We all thought you _hated_ each other.” All the other words crowded his mouth, begging to spill out, but Adam held. When there was no response from the other side of the table, he continued with a gentle “How long has this been going on?” 

Mr. Fell said “three days” at the exact same time Mr. Crawly said “six years,” and they shared a look between them. 

“Mr. Crawly-”

“It’s Crowley, actually,” Crowley corrected. “If we’re coming clean about things. I changed it ages ago. Unofficially, you understand.” Adam watched Mr. Fell instinctively go to take Crowley’s hand, but freeze as soon as he saw the captain was looking.

“Gentlemen, look,” Adam sighed. “Obviously there’s something happening here that I don’t understand, and I can’t help you unless you can tell me what the problem is.”

“Help us? Mr. Fell asked. “How could you -”

“Aziraphale -” Crowley began, and Adam started when he heard the other man gasp at hearing his given name from Crowley’s lips. “Let's… It’s too late for hiding anymore, and we tried staying apart. I don’t -” This time, Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to take his hand when Crowley’s voice cracked on the word. 

“We met seven years ago,” Aziraphale began, and it all flowed from there. Working on the staff of Presiden Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub. The night they ended up drunk in the same bar - arguing about morality, what a surprise - and when they got kicked out of there they wandered around the port for three hours together before a senior member on Beelzebub’s staff nearly caught them. (Hastur, Crowley spat, like the name was a curse.) Trying to forget each other, all the work undone each time yellow eyes met blue. A truncated explanation of a drunken confession under a table in a library in New London. Five years of secret meetings, sweeping for surveillance equipment in crusty hotel rooms on distant spaceports, five years fraught with abject terror, of knowing at any moment they might be found out, five years of being unable to resist each other despite it all, until finally Crowley called in enough favors to get them assigned to the _Hogsback_ together. Three years around humans, who, if they understood one thing, it was intermingling between alien species. But being permitted at last to move within the same circle was dangerous, and their philosophical flare ups - which Adam began to realize with a creeping sensation were hastily reframing themselves in his mind as an odd sort of foreplay instead of the rage of mortal enemies- started to draw unwanted attention.

“We thought it would be fine - that everyone would think we hated each other like good little denizens of Hel and Hev-N should, but then you yelled at us, and scared Aziraphale half out of his skin,” Crowley accused.

“I thought it might - be best, if we separated for a time - if we couldn’t keep our baser emotions in check in public, well, it was only a matter of time before - but you saw how well that worked out-”

“I just don’t understand why you felt the need to conceal your relationship once we were free of Federation space and clear of your planets' influence. Did anyone aboard this ship give you cause to hide?” 

“Are you joking?” scoffed Crowley. “No one needed to say anything to us here! One word from someone on this ship to either Hel or Hev-N and the second we got back we’d not only be out of a job we’d be sepera- arrested.”

“So you’re telling me you made my crew insane for a year and a half because you thought someone here was going to _tattle_ on you?” 

“It does sound rather stupid, when you say it like that,” admitted Crowley, but beside him, Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Hel does not give you a bad write up and a stern talking to,” whispered Aziraphale. “Whatever rumors you’ve heard about the prisons there are nothing compared to the reality. And I know Hev-N likes to give the appearance of merciful compassion, but step outside the bounds of what’s acceptable and I’ve often found… the opposite.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, wearing a soft expression that could not be hidden, even through the glasses, and succeeded in drawing a small, grateful smile from Aziraphale in between the worry etched into his face. Adam, who often prided himself on how well he could read others, felt like the galaxy’s biggest fool for having ever mistook their passion for hatred. 

“But this ship is crewed by humans,” Adam said after he was done marvelling at his own idiocy. “Why would anyone here -”

“You must understand,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Hel and Hev-N have deep pockets and a vested interest in making sure our two races never come to terms. With both of us here, living in close quarters, it would be no stretch at all to assume someone here was being paid to - monitor us - as it were, for the duration of this mission. Make sure we’re behaving.” 

Adam skin itched. He remembered the comm in his room, currently racking up a stratospheric number of messages from the entire crew, every single one of them filled with gushing details about exactly what the pair had been trying so desperately to hide, and with good reason. His first instinct was to profess his implicit trust in his crew, assure them that not a single member of almost hundred strong force that ran the ship would ever betray them. 

But… 

He didn’t know. 

Adam Young, who once wrote an essay about leadership that made a commander weep, found it impossible to assure one single scared and lonely couple who were supposed to be under his protection that they would be safe within the confines of his own ship. _Was_ there danger of subterfuge? Was a member of his crew even now composing a message to be dashed off to Hev-N or Hel the moment they were within range of a network relay? Why didn’t he _know,_ what kind of captain was he, who didn’t know the loyalties of those he commanded beyond the small ring of his most trusted officers? Adam was used to being set upon by uncertainty, what was out there, which admiral had he pissed off, what was that enemy ship doing so close to that innocent planet, but _not_ uncertainty from within! In the next moment he pulled his thoughts from their tangled snarl to do something he had not done in years, not since he watched Captain Tracy, fiery red hair still smoking from the explosion on the bridge, ring up the captain of the ship who attacked the _M25_ so that she could bluff her way into getting Captain Guerra to surrender. 

He admitted doubt. 

“You’re right.” Adam could not meet their eyes, and examined the nails of his hands, realized how they were bitten down to the quick. When had that happened? “I can promise your safety for the entirety of your time on board my ship, but I cannot control what a member of the crew may or may not do once we -” There was a sound from outside the door, and Captain Young narrowed his eyes. “Once we come into port.” He rose from his seat, continued to speak as if nothing was amiss. “Unless we can come up with some kind of plan, I fear that there may be no defense against -” 

Adam suddenly wrenched the door open and a pile of bodies tumbled through it.

A number of things happen upon being caught unawares. 

Your heart rate increases, for one. That’s the body’s way of gearing up, saying “hey friendo, looks like this is about turn into one of those fight or flight situations, I’m gonna go ahead and dump, like, a ton of oxygen into the ol’ bloodstream for ya, just in case.” The body may also take several actions, independent of conscious thought, such as shouting, or rising from your seat, or arming yourself with a nearby writing implement. Crowley did all three of these things. (Aziraphale could only do the first two, since Crowley was quicker to grab the pen.) Adam, who recognized the ashamed jumble of bodies as his five most trusted officers - and was slightly more experienced at handling himself under pressure - merely grumbled and put a hand to his temple. 

“Who wants to try and explain?" Adam asked. “I’m fairly certain the five of you are breaking about seventeen regulations,” (It was nineteen, Anathema wanted to say, but felt now was not the most appropriate time) “not to mention the fact that I thought you were Federation officers, not a bunch of children so eager for gossip you feel the need to listen at keyholes.” No one spoke up at first, until Newt, from the top of the heap and cringing more than normal, coughed awkwardly. 

“Uh, Captain?” Every eye in the room swiveled to focus on his hesitant face. “Its just - well, we were all so curious and more than a little worried you wouldn't answer your comm and so Pepper felt that… well, once we realized what was happening we got to talking, and, you know, whispering a bit, thinking about how we might -" 

"You're not alone in this, Captain." Pepper had extradited herself with as much dignity as possible, and rose to her full height. “Let us help you.” 

"What the Commander means is that-" Wensleydale was cut off by a moan of pain when Brian kicked him in his own efforts to detangle himself, and Newt picked the thread back up again. 

"We’re passing by my home quadrant soon and - ah - I think - well, I think I might have an idea?”   


* * *

“Are you sure?” Adam asked. 

Crowley and Aziraphale stood together on the surface of the most beautiful planet the officers of the _Hogsback_ had ever seen. Turquoise waves rolled up the beach, almost playing about the landing gear of the ship, and the sand was pink and perfect. A dense forest lay to the south, and a small city of humanoid inhabitants to the north. The planet had been carefully selected, and Aziraphale and Crowley, minus those yellow eyes, should fit right in alongside them. Crewmembers should have been mucking about in the water or lounging on the beach, laughing, but there was no one on the strip of sand except for a small selection of officers surrounding the pair.

As far as the rest of the crew was concerned, the ship was undergoing repairs that would take no more than an hour. The paperwork on the planet would go missing, and oopsy daisy, turns out there was no record this place existed at all. 

Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s hand and nodded. 

“We’re sure,” Crowley said. 

“This is really too kind of you all,” Aziraphale mumbled. “I hope this won’t cause you much trouble.” 

“Not at all,” Wensleydale replied. “I’ve already doctored the security footage and the records. As far as the rest of the crew and either of your governments will ever know, the two of you stole supplies and an escape pod with a broken coordinate system in the middle of a shift change four days ago.” He took a moment to chuckle at his own brilliance. “Unless Hel and Hev-N are planning to finally settle their differences and team up to spend the next several centuries combing every planet in this quadrant of the galaxy, you’re free and clear.” 

“Can you imagine the scandal when it comes out that you two ran off together?” Pepper asked, with a dreamy look in her eyes. “Having to admit that your planets might not be so different?” 

“They’ll just hush it all up, like they always do,” muttered Anathema, who was trying to nudge a bag full of books she’d “appropriated” from the library over to the pile of luggage that would remain planetside, despite the fact she had failed each class in subterfuge she had ever taken. 

“But we’ll know,” said Captain Young, stoically ignoring Anathema’s attempts to steal ship’s property. (No one but Aziraphale ever read those real books either way, and he would just say they were stolen along with everything else.) “No matter what your governments do about it, we’ll know that it happened.” 

“You’ll be alright, with the supplies here?” worried Newt. “I - are you certain there’s enough?” 

“I packed everything myself,” said Brian. “Enough food for a hundred years, plus a replicator, a distress signal, a medi-kit, a permanent shelter with built in camouflage made to withstand temperatures up to -” 

“But that’s only a temporary measure, suppose the population should - ”

“We’ll be fine,” Crowley assured them. “We’ll head to the city eventually. I think we both just want some time to the two of us, at least for a while.” He went to shake Adam’s hand in farewell, but Azirapahle stopped him, reminded Crowley that he was forgetting something.

“Right!” Crowley exclaimed and, red-faced, he fumbled with the pocket of his black blazer until he produced two golden rings, and held them out to Captain Young. “Captains are still allowed to perform weddings, right?” 

Not officially, and definitely not unless they were actually on board the ship. But he wasn’t about to tell them that. 

It was only after the crew had sufficiently dried their eyes that the _Hogsback_ pulled away from the small, unnamed planet orbiting Alpha Centauri in the southern sector of the galaxy, commonly known as the South Downs.

Below the hum of its engines, two figures embraced, and walked hand in hand down the beach. The golden rings on their fingers glinted in the warm light of the sun. 

* * *

“How could you let them escape?” President Gabriel of Hev-N cried across the boardroom table. 

“I must object to the use of the word escape," Admiral Tracy declared. "I would hardly classify two diplomats you both placed aboard a Federation ship to monitor my subordinates as prisoners.” She said it so simply and sweetly it was impossible take issue, which had been precisely her intention. 

“This is _your_ side’s fault,” Prince Beezlebub rounded on President Gabriel, who rolled his eyes and scoffed a series of syllables at them that probably started off as some kind of insult before decades of political training reasserted itself. "No citizen of Hel would run away with one of yours, not willingly." 

"Certain as I am that you haven't implied a kidnapping took place, which would absolutely qualify as an act of war under the Sandalphon Accords, I would find it hard to believe this Mr. Crawly had not tempted our poor, rather soft - "

“Esteemed heads of state,” Captain Adam Young declared, and he was not surprised when both of them stopped their bickering, not when he used that voice. “I believe that instead of threatening war and trading suppositions and conjectures over the actions of two people, we should instead lay the blame straight where it belongs, at the feet of that ineffable, terribly powerful construct that resides within all of us.” He rose, and each and every one of the politicians and admirals at that table waited with bated breath for what he would say next. 

“Nothing you can do about that old free-will.” 

Maybe leadership really was about more than keeping a cool head. Maybe he hadn’t been _totally_ full of it when he wrote those essays so many years ago, and there _was_ something to the whole being inspiring and honest and dignified. But as he sauntered out of the board room, knowing that not a single voice would be raised in protest of his leaving, he caught the eye of Admiral Tracy, who winked, and smiled. 

If one truly wishes to know the measure of Adam’s leadership, one need look no further than a small planet out in the South Downs of the galaxy. There, free of the influence of Hev-N or Hel, free of paranoia or fear, Crowley and Aziraphale sit on the beach in the sunshine. Perhaps Crowley dozes in his chair. You can be certain Aziraphale reads. And when Crowley reaches through the space between them to brush the hair from his husband’s face, and Aziraphale pulls him in for a kiss, they’ll both send a silent prayer to the only entities who have ever heard their pleas. 

The crew of the Hogsback.

And the Captain who commands her. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1Captain Tracy was now Admiral Tracy and Adam's direct superior, who he trusted in all things excepting her judgement of suitable companions, shacking up as she did with that same Lt. Shadwell. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Trust a human to cuddle right up to a Tralfmadorian Flangrek without a shred of protective equipment, the higher ups in the Federation would grumble after filling out yet another pile of paperwork. [ return to text ]
> 
> 3 Not real fireworks, those had been banned from any federation ship since the Fawkes Incident of 2257, for reasons which should have been apparent to anyone except the unfortunate captain of the freighter _Manchester_ , who earned himself an entire page in the regulations manual in memoriam. [ return to text ]
> 
> 4 She already got quite enough of that from her boyfriend down in Engineering. [ return to text ]
> 
> 5 This was actually Pepper’s own fault, as there had been a small class on security measures concerning _just_ this scenario at the last conference she’d been required to attend. She had skipped it in favor of learning the proper way to break a man’s fingers with a war fan.  [ return to text ]  
>    
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Check out my other GO fics if you like (there's a healthy sampling of various AUs) and my Tumblr is [@soft-october-night](https://soft-october-night.tumblr.com/) if you'd like come by and say hello!


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